Because You Are Breathing
by swiftasdeer
Summary: After escaping Terminus, Daryl finds himself hating sleep and the dreams that come along with it.
1. how'd it steal into the world?

**So typically I try to stick to AU fics but this one was buzzing around in my head for a while, so I'm giving it a whirl. I'm not sure how long it's gonna be and heads up, it's not necessarily a "traditional" story structure.**

**Hopefully you enjoy it!**

* * *

Sleep was a rare commodity. It came and went in fragments; twenty minutes naps spurred on by complete and utter exhaustion, or nights wasted tossing and turning, senses on high alert for snapping tree branches or the crunching of leaves underfoot. Sleep was precious and Daryl hated sleep. He'd never sleep if he could, he'd spend all his hours and days awake, searching and making up ground, trying to find some place they could settle and make into their home. Not a home, home was an ill-fitting word, but a safe place. It never proved to work in the past, setting up shop and letting themselves get too comfortable. Lives were always lost in the process and whatever hope they had managed to kindle and build up was always doused out. It was tiresome.

But not tiresome enough for sleep, not for Daryl. He took watch more than anyone; the others used to object but fatigue wore down their concern rather quickly.

"I got it," Rick told him one night, nudging at the other man with his elbow. "Go rest."

"'m fine." The look Rick gave him was anything but accepting and maybe if the trek out of Terminus hadn't been so difficult and rocky, Daryl would've stood his ground. But he knew that he was no good to the group if he was sluggish and didn't take proper care of himself (the best he could anyway), so he reluctantly respected the request.

Sleep was rare and sleep was scary because during the day, Daryl could push thoughts from his mind and focus on other things. But when he slept, he had no control over what his mind conjured up.

* * *

He'd know this place anywhere. The peeling white paint, the creaking screen door... something hits his gut and his mind screams, 'Home, this is home', but it's really not. Far too good, too nice of a place for him to be able to call his home.

Daryl equates the Greene farmhouse with a castle.

"You're supposed to say, 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!'"

He stands only a couple of yards from the porch, wind whipping across his face. His own hair is longer than he remembers it being the last time he saw this place. Looking up at the voice, he spots her leaning out of the second story window. The wind rushes past her, strands of blonde whirling around, framing her glowing face.

"What's that about?"

"You can climb up it to get to me."

He knows the story, at least the gist of it. Rapunzel is trapped in a tower and the prince climbs up her hair to get to her. He peers in the main level window but all he sees through squinted eyes is bright, white light.

"Why don't you just on down here?" He thinks he sees movement inside, but he can't be sure.

"I can't," she calls down, voice laced with heartbreak. He hears his own heart, deep within his chest, crack in half. "I would, but I can't."

* * *

Waking suddenly, Daryl's body jostled and then tensed all at once. He didn't recognize his surroundings, not until he spotted Carl and Michonne leaned against a tree asleep, Glenn and Maggie awake, holding hands as they sat huddled near the dying fire. The rest of the group, his family, were around too. Everyone except Beth.

Daryl didn't dream much before everything happened. His childhood was plagued with a lot of nightmares, far too many, and as he got older, they phased out for the most part. They still reared their ugly head once in a blue moon, but it was nothing like the awful nights he experienced as a kid. Pleasant dreams were even rarer, and when he did recall them, he almost hated them. They were the biggest tease, a depressing reminder. Nothing like having a good dream crushed by shitty reality.

That's how Daryl felt when he awoke. Annoyed, confused. He didn't know whether to call it a dream or a nightmare, the array of emotions that hit him ranged from joy to concern to sorrow. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to commit dream-Beth to his memory, worried if he forgot how she looked then, he'd somehow forget her altogether.

But that proved to be a bit of a waste of time, considering how often after that she snuck her way into his dreams, good or bad. Every time he closed his eyes, it seemed like she was on the other side of his eyelids, patiently waiting for him.

When sleeping, his subconscious took over and it was always the same thing, in different variations. He always saw her. Sometimes he woke up with the heavy weight of guilt in his stomach and other times, it was as though a small fire had lit and spread throughout his chest. It changed, it differed. But it was still scary for him, how much she haunted him.

* * *

"Home, home on the range, where the deer and the antelope play..." Beth giggles. "I can't remember the rest of the words." Her laughter falls away as her face contorts, deep in thought, twirling her knife in her hand so fluidly, like she was born gripping the thing. They're in the woods, somewhere, but not on the move, not running. Just... meandering.

"Where seldom is heard a discouraging word, and the skies are not cloudy all day," he finishes, though there's no melody attached to his words.

"Oh, right!" She laughs again, all airy and light. "That's a nice thought."

"Hm?"

"Discouraging words are seldom heard and the skies aren't always cloudy."

"Don't mind clouds."

"Me neither. I used to like trying to find shapes in them." At this, he looks up at the chunks of blue peaking through the trees above. He squints at the clouds, but all he sees are puffs and streaks of white. A moment of silence passes as he studies them and she continues on strolling. He's not all that imaginative, but there's a small blob of fluffy white that somewhat resembles four legs and a tail. Somewhat.

"Dog, I think." Her breath catches in her throat as she whips around and Daryl instinctively goes to grab his crossbow off his shoulder. But it isn't there, it's nowhere in sight.

"Where?!" Her eyes are bright and lit up by the smile tugging at her lips

"What?"

"Daryl, you said there was a dog." He notices then that the knife she was wielding is gone and he has no weapons on him at all either.

"The cloud," he explains, pointing up at the sky. Her face falls a bit but she follows his finger anyway, and there's that sweet laugh again, causing the back of his neck to prickle in the best possible way. This time, he can't help but laugh too.

"That's a real funny lookin' dog."

* * *

Once Daryl found a moment alone with Maggie, he didn't know what to say. There weren't any words he could muster up to convey the remorse and longing that consumed him. They'd been on the road almost a week now and she hadn't mentioned her sister's name, at least not while Daryl had been in earshot. And how he wished she would, that she would ask about her, what happened to her, had anyone seen _Beth_? There was a far off look in her eyes he had caught before, when she wasn't focused on any job at hand, when she believed no one was looking, when Glenn wasn't at her side. But Daryl had seen it, and he knew he had that look sometimes himself.

"We're gonna find her," he blurted out as Maggie gathered up stray pieces of firewood. Her whole body stilled and she didn't look up at him, but she didn't have to for Daryl to know that someone had told her, that she knew he was the last one with her. "I... I went after her, I searched for-"

"I know." Her arms curled around the branches in her grasp as she stood and took a few slow strides towards him. There was a sad smile on her lips that didn't reach her eyes. "I know you did. And I hope we find her."

"We're gonna. She's strong, she's smart. She's out there." Daryl heard his own voice break, forcing himself to look away from the older Greene sister. His heart felt lodged in his throat and it only tightened when Maggie laid her head briefly against his turned shoulder.

* * *

"Wake up, Daryl."

It's not even a whisper. His ears barely pick up the sound but they do all same. He knows that voice anywhere.

The grass is soft and dewy beneath his body, causing him to shiver involuntarily as he sits up. His bones ache and his heading is pounding, but he forces himself to stand. The farmhouse fills his line of vision, consumed with darkness. He staggers towards it.

"Beth!" he calls out, his voice rough and hoarse. He makes his way up the porch steps, teetering unsteadily with his hands gripping the rail. He wonders about the bright light he saw before and presses his face to the window, but there's nothing there. Just black and emptiness.

His legs don't want to move but he forces himself to the edge of the porch and leans over the railing, nearly toppling over in his dire need to see the second story window. Her window.

"Beth!" His cheeks are wet and he can't bear to stand anymore, allowing his knees to give way and his body to crumple against the chipped white balusters. She's so clear in his mind, her shiny blue eyes and contagious smile; the way her arms curled and clutched around him, so much force and emotion from such a small body.

He squeezes his eyes shut over and over, staring up at the window, willing her to appear. But she never does.


	2. what seed, what root did it grow from?

**I finished this chapter up just before the Season 5 premiere and now I am so pumped up after seeing it, I couldn't wait on posting this any longer.**

**Also, let me just say that I have yet to read the comics and don't know much about them (aside from some bigger elements that get talked about on the internet), so this probably strays from certain comic book elements that get introduced onto the show.**

**Hopefully you enjoy it and please, let me know what you think! :)**

* * *

Beth holds Judith in her arms, just against her hip. The baby grabs at the braid in her ponytail and lightly tugs at it, but Beth doesn't flinch, she just smiles and whispers to her in a gentle, sweet voice.

The mattress is thin beneath his hands as he grips the edge of the prison bed, legs slung over the side. The place smells so familiar, homey and lived in, that it settles the nerves sporadically shooting off inside of him. Beth's humming steals his attention.

She paces in front of him, as best she can in the small cell, singing quietly as Judith's eyelids slowly begin to droop.

"I think she's gonna start walkin' soon. Can already stand up when she's holdin' onto my hand." The way in which Beth speaks about her, so proud and joyous, it causes warmth to flood Daryl's chest. He remembers hearing her in the past say how much she couldn't wait to be a mother herself. And in a way, she already is a type of mother to Judy.

"'s great."

"Then she'll start talkin' and won't be able to stop. She'll be pesterin' you all the time."

"Don't think I'll mind that." Beth smiles at him before gingerly laying Judith down in her crib.

Daryl runs his fingers along the metal frame of the bed. The room isn't his but it reminds him of Beth's at the prison, even if it's different. It still has her fingerprints all over it, the random odds and ends to make it feel homey, the drawings the children hand to her with shy smiles tacked on the walls. Beth's standing in front of him suddenly and he feels strangely calm, even with how close she is to him.

Her hands reach up to push his hair back from his face and it surprises him that he's not inclined to pull away. He knows he's dirty, his hair must be greasy and grimy, but it always is, and she doesn't seem to mind as her fingers brush along the curves of his ears. He doesn't mind it either.

"Your actions were thoughtful," she tells him, hands settling along where his neck meets his shoulders. It's a vague statement and while he doesn't know the context in which she says it, he understands all the same.

His skin beneath her hands burns in the best way and it spreads like a wildfire, until he's completely consumed by it and by her.

* * *

After a number of nights without a roof over their heads, the group had stumbled upon a cabin tucked away in the woods. There hadn't been much left there, it had been ransacked who knew how many times before, but it was clear of walkers and a good stopping point for the night. Most of his family stayed put and got some much needed rest while Daryl and Carl went out hunting.

The two were quiet most of their trek, only speaking in one word phrases when needed. Carl wasn't a very efficient hunter yet, but he was getting there. And he was skilled enough with traps, thanks to his father, that he had no trouble setting a few up on his own that would hopefully catch something by morning. It was only on their way back to the group that Carl broke their amicable silence.

"I feel like we aren't supposed to talk about the people that are gone."

Daryl let out a hum as if he wasn't sure what the boy was talking about, but he very much did.

"I get it, it makes us sad and upset. But I think if we don't talk about them, we're more likely to forget them. I don't want to forget Sophia or Hershel or stuff like... how my mom's voice sounded. I wanna remember everything I can so I can tell Judith about her, about everyone." Carl fell quiet for a long moment, his feet slowing until he stilled. Daryl stopped behind him as the kid turned his head, though he realized then that Carl wasn't really a kid anymore. "You don't want to forget Merle, do you?"

"Could never forget Merle," Daryl replied, stabbing at the dead leaves on the ground with the butt of his crossbow.

"What about Beth?" Daryl's hands stilled.

"I'd never forget her either."

"What happened to you guys?"

Daryl always admired how straight-forward and blunt Carl was with his questions, even if he didn't always want to answer them. He wasn't about to tell him everything but he couldn't flat out lie to him either. He had earned Daryl's respect and honesty.

"A lot. Tell you all 'bout once we meet up with her again."

Carl gave him a curious look but didn't argue; he just turned back the way they were headed and kept marching.

And for that, Daryl was grateful.

* * *

There's walkers everywhere, swarms of them. Daryl swings at them with his crossbow and when it grows heavy in his hands, he pulls out his knife. He can't keep track of how many he's killed, he's thrashing too fast and they don't seem to stop until an unnatural part in the crowd of the corpses reveals Beth.

The front of her shirt is stained bright red, the blotch growing and spreading across her stomach.

Walkers stop their lunging and carry on with their mindless stumbling, as if they're sleepwalking. Like neither he or she is there.

Beth's knees give out and the moment she's on the ground, Daryl is right beside her. She coughs and sputters up blood and he goes to brush her hair from her face, smearing red across her cheek.

"Shhh," he tries to console her, but he can barely contain himself. The light in her eyes flickers and he's desperate to reignite it, he can't just watch her fade away. He pulls her up and cradles her body against his chest. Her skin is ice cold and there's a piercing ringing in his ears that drowns out everything else. Sluggishly, she drags her eyes up to his face and there's a small smile that spreads across her mouth. "This ain't real. You're okay."

"Wake up, Daryl."

* * *

Daryl refused to sleep. He didn't care how heavy his eyelids grew or how much people leered at him, concerned. Nobody understood it. Maggie, sort of, in her own way, but she wasn't there when it happened.

There were sometimes waves of anger that hit him hard, randomly. It wasn't anger at anyone in particular, it wasn't anger at himself. It was just anger at the series of events, at how cruel the world had been to everyone but how through only that cruelness, he was able to find whatever it was he had now. A family, a sense of purpose, hope. And he was angry that Beth was out there, somewhere, not with them, with their family.

That aggression was funneled into productivity, into staying up for longer stretches (not just for the fear of his dreams) and pushing the group onward as best as he could. Sometimes he and Maggie wandered off together, when everyone else needed a moment; the two of them never seemed to stop.

She told him of a dream she had once, one early morning when the only person besides them that was awake was Michonne, cradling a peacefully sleeping Judith in her arms. Maggie told Daryl how Beth was just a little girl in the dream, braided pigtails, scabbed knees, and muddy boots.

Daryl smiled, because it wasn't too far off from the Beth he remembered.

"I dream about her," he admitted. Maggie didn't ask, but he was aware she knew then why he didn't want to ever sleep.

The older Greene sister's eyes shone with something that wasn't tears and he thought for a moment that she was going to embrace him. All she did was gaze and twirl the ring she had on her finger.

There was nothing else that needed to be said between the two of them.

* * *

"You can tell a lot about someone by their hands," Beth states matter-of-factly, holding her own two out in front of her face. Her brow furrows as she bends and wiggles her fingers about, skin smudged with dirt and fingernails awkwardly broken. "Mine are pretty rough. But yours..."

She reaches over and curls her fingers around Daryl's palm, tugging his hand closer, his own fingers folding around her grasp. His hands are filthy; there's not just dirt caked onto them, but oil and grease from working on cars stuck under his nails and blotches of dried blood caught in the lines of his palm. Beth traces her own fingertips over every crease and crevice, every callus and blister. Her hands are hard and tough, but they look damn near perfect when held against his own.

"Your hands have been through a war. You're strong."

"So're you."

"I know. Thank you for seeing that."

Daryl doesn't see a dead girl. She is more than just alive, she is full of so much life, overflowing with it. It bubbles out of her and sinks its way under his skin and there's no price that can be put on that. There's nothing he wouldn't do to keep that feeling forever.

The room begins to shake and tremble, the walls start to crumble around them, and he laces their fingers together.

* * *

They had been heading north in their travels for a few weeks now. Abraham had insisted they keep migrating north, DC was still a priority even if he seemed to somewhat understand the wants (the _needs_) of the rest of the group.

There were a few churches along the way that spurred Daryl on; he tore them apart looking for any kind of sign, keeping that black car in mind. It wasn't that much of a clue but it was something to go off of and that was better than nothing, even if he hadn't had any luck so far. The hope he held dimmed some days but was always still present.

It had been raining most of the day and it had been a fairly miserable hike, for Judith most of all, so Rick, Glenn, and Daryl swept through a warehouse that they had stumbled upon. Daryl didn't want to stop, he was fine in the rain, it was just water, but he couldn't push his family. And he knew Beth wouldn't want him to do that either.

The place had been clear, or so they thought, but Maggie had signaled that they had company as she held watch from a broken window on the third floor. Daryl dropped the can of cold soup he had been sharing to join her, scouting out the small company of strangers down below. Two of them entered the warehouse from the side door; Daryl flagged down Rick with his hand and motioned the breach. He was about to join him for back up when he spotted a vehicle parked just beneath the line of trees on the other end of the parking lot. Black car, white cross.

"It's them. The car," he informed her in a low voice, glancing at Maggie and then back at the car. Her shoulders squared and jaw tightened and Daryl knew then, truly knew, that Beth was alive.


End file.
